


Guilt Is A Useless Emotion

by KLaxAddict



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Aphrodisiacs, Biting/Marking, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega!Morty, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Sub!Rick, alpha!Rick, dom!morty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-08 03:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLaxAddict/pseuds/KLaxAddict
Summary: Morty goes into heat unexpectedly, but he has to deal with Rick before Rick can deal with him.





	Guilt Is A Useless Emotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The-Clairvoyant-Rick (MajixTrixx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajixTrixx/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to the fantastic and talented 'the-clairvoyant-rick'! She's given so much to this little fandom, and I'm happy to hand back the mess I made of the list of kinks she gave me!
> 
> Morty is 17 or 18 in this fic, but these two have clearly done this dance a few times before.

Morty is spread out on a lounge chair on a purple sanded beach, soaking in the bright red rays from the gas giant hovering above the horizon. Rick has promised no carcinogenic or harsh side effects, no sunscreen needed. His arm is thrown across his face, blocking his eyes while his nails threaten to crush the pink fruit that had served as the glass for his drink. He's _fuming_.

Rick had left to get another round forty-five minutes ago, from the beachfront bar a few dozen steps up the path, and Morty can fucking _hear_ him from his chair.

It's bad enough that Rick had brought him here to make up for how hard they'd been going at the adventuring for the last few weeks before ditching him. It's worse that he'd left on the pretext of refreshing Morty's drink and then ended up sitting at the bar knocking back shots, fucking flirting with both the Floovian bartender and a Kozbian tourist who sounded from here like it already had four tentacles in Rick's lap.

But no, the worst part is that Rick hasn't even _noticed_.

He hears a low throaty chuckle and two responding sets of moronic twittering and Morty can hear, more than feel, the teeth grinding in his head. That's fucking it.

He takes a few steadying breaths and pulls himself to his feet, shivering as the breeze hits the light sheen of sweat that's stuck to his skin. Determined, he grits his jaw and walks with purpose towards the bar.

Rick hears him coming, and swings around, grinning the sloppy grin that means he's already a couple sheets to the wind.

“O-oh hey, Morty! You should join us. W-we're have a great time over here, where've you been?”

“Rick,” Morty says evenly, “It's time for us to leave.”

Three stares land on him, one laced with confusion and two with blatant hostility.

“What're you talking about, Morty? I don't wanna leave yet, we – we just got here. Sit down and relax, would ya? Have a drink!”

The last fraying threads of Morty's patience snap audibly as he slams his palm on the bar next to Rick and leans in, practically hissing in his grandfather's ear.

“Rick. Get your ass in the goddamn ship before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself.”

Rick's eyes don't leave his face but they narrow, confusion seamlessly melting into annoyance, barely-concealed disdain, and more than a hint of arousal. While Rick still maintains a good six inches in height on the teen, the last few years have layered muscle onto his frame, and the teen's never missed an opportunity to exploit how much they both get off on Morty manhandling him.

Of course, they've never tested how well that works when Rick doesn't _want_ to let himself get thrown around like a ragdoll, but he seems interested enough in seeing what kind of game Morty thinks he's playing.

Rick rises to his feet smoothly and takes off striding towards the parking lot, not bothering with a word of goodbye to the drinking buddies he'd seemed so keen on a moment ago. He might not have paid the tab either. Morty can't think of anything he cares less about at the moment.

He overtakes Rick as they reach the pavement. “I'm driving,” he snaps without looking at the man. Rick throws him the keys without a word of complaint.

Morty's hands are shaking as he wrenches open the driver's side door and buckles himself in. He needs to get a handle on himself, they still need to get home.

Rick seems to have different ideas, leaning across the ship to slip fingers up Morty's swimsuit-clad thigh, a smug look back on his face.

“Y-you need it that bad, Mo-ough-orty, all you gotta do is ask, babe. You-you don't gotta get jealous of those fuckin'- those nobodies. You're still the sweetest piece of ass this side of the multiverse.”

Three deep breaths, in and out. Sweat is dripping down the back of Morty's neck as he jams his foot on the accelerator.

“You're going to want to get your goddamn hands off of me and keep them on your lap, Rick, or you're going to regret it.”

Rick frowns, but immediately withdraws his hand, recognizing a hard no when he hears it.

“What's going on, Morty?” He asks seriously, but with more than a hint of suspicion. “'Cause you were definitely eyeing me like the last fat guy in the Donner party back there. You're sending me some pretty fucking mixe-”

The accusation freezes as the recycled air of the ship's cockpit finally kicks in, and Rick finally buys a clue.

A couple of cautious sniffs confirm it, and Rick groans, deep and low in his chest. Morty feels another wave of slick course through him at the sound, thoroughly soaking his suit and probably the ship's seat.

“Fuuucckkk. You're in heat.” The last trace of alcohol-slurred words have vanished in a jolt of adrenaline, replaced by dripping lust and a hint of something primal.

“Hands,” Morty snaps.

Rick obediently bunches his fists in the fabric of his pants, his own breathing a little too controlled as well now.

“Morty, I - I should have noticed, should take better care-”

“You know what, Rick,” Morty interrupts, “We're about twelve minutes away from home, and I think it would be best for everybody if we looked straight ahead and _didn't talk_ until then.”

The next few minutes are among the tensest and most uncomfortable Morty has ever experienced, up to and including life-threatening terror and unfathomable cosmic horrors. The ship is deathly silent except for the sound of labored, shallow breathing. The air only grows thicker with pheromones, condensation forming on the windows with every breath until he feels like he's gagging on the atmosphere.

But worst of all is the quiet, intense pressure Morty can feel smothering every square millimeter of his skin: the guilt emanating from Rick beside him. It's fucking tangible, practically screaming from every pore in the Alpha's body, every stuttered breath and aborted whine that dies in Rick's throat before it makes it to his lips is broadcasting his need to worm his way back into Morty's good graces.

Rick fucks up plenty, and he has a veritable arsenal of methods to deploy when he does to make it up to Morty, but this is different, and he knows it. This isn't going to be fixed by a Galactic-Class Sanchez Special blowjob and an afternoon at Blips & Chitz, but they're not going to be able to figure it out now.

Fuck. Morty doesn't need a guilt-ridden Rick full of extra self-loathing and shitty decisions crawling to the bottom of a bottle right now. He's already halfway sunk into his heat delirium, he needs Rick to be the one with his head screwed on straight for the next several hours. All Morty can do is try to alleviate a little of that guilt until he can get Rick into the right headspace. Which means he needs to keep own his head above water for a little while longer.

Earth has never looked better, and as the ship skids to a halt in the driveway, Morty nearly falls out of the door before it stops, gasping as he fills his lungs with fresh, clean air. He's already digging through the workbench by the time Rick collects himself and follows him in silently, hands clenched at his sides. Morty groans internally, and throws the case he's found at Rick. The scientist catches it and opens it to reveal two syringes: one pink and one clear.

Meanwhile Morty pushes the panic button disguised as a thumbtack on the corkboard, and breathes a little easier as the floor sinks into the sub-garage. Rick takes the clear syringe from the case and passes it back, his manner apologetic as he smoothly slips the needle into Morty's arm. The crushing mass of anxiety that settles in Morty's chest with the onset of every heat dissipates almost instantly as the contraceptive floods his system. Morty collapses into a seat on the bed that dominates a full wall of the vault. He can breathe again. They're home, they're safe. That only leaves one problem to deal with then.

Rick has stepped back and is shucking off his shoes and shirt, lab coat already tossed over a computer chair. He still hasn't looked Morty in the eyes since the ship. Goddamn it, he doesn't need this. Already Morty's hindbrain is screeching, desperate to have his face ground into the sheets as a thick cock batters him into incoherent screaming. But if he doesn't get Rick grounded and fast, any pounding he's getting tonight is going to be half-assed at best, and that's only going to make things worse for everybody.

Naked now, Rick stands facing Morty from the middle of the room. His breathing is still a bit unsteady, but it's not from arousal, he hanging only half-hard between his legs.

Morty sighs, and pulls the pink syringe from its carrying case. Rick's a bit too old to regularly have his rut triggered by Morty's heats, and without a little chemical assistance he won't be able to keep up like he needs to. Rick's special concoction will instantly burn through his veins with all the intensity that heat delirium is going to for Morty in about half an hour, so that's roughly how long he has to get Rick's head in the game.

“Activate emergency restraints level one, authorization 'Morty-Charlie-One-Seven-Eight-Delta'.”

No matter how many times he sees it, Morty will never fully get used to watching Rick's cybernetics reveal themselves beneath a fragile-looking human exterior. Immediately rows of dark bands unfold from pale skin, drawing Rick's arms back and binding them together from his wrists to just above his elbows, wrenching his shoulders back to accommodate the strain. Another strap draws his ankles together, and Rick drops to his knees with a grunt as it continues upward to meet the bindings on his wrists. The whole process is over in less than a few seconds, but it still makes Morty's breath catch in his throat.

“Voice authentication match,” echoes a voice from somewhere that could either be Rick's watch or the skin just beneath it. “Heat pheromones verified. Scenario two permissions authorized.”

Morty strips off his swimsuit, wincing at the heavy, sticky feeling of drying slick that's stuck to it. Yep, it's definitely ruined. His skin is already too sensitive in the air-conditioned vault, and he feels itchy and tacky where he's been forced to sit in his own secretions for the last hour.

He puts a hand in the middle of Rick's chest and pushes, toppling the scientist roughly onto his back on the concrete ground. Rick barely even glares at him as he lands on his bound arms and wriggles to keep his balance while Morty straddles his chest.

“Y'know it's pretty fucking uncomfortable sitting around like this.” Morty's knees slide down around his grandfather's ears, and he buries a hand in Rick's unruly mane of hair, tugging hard enough to be a threat.

“Clean me up, Rick.”

As always, there's no need to tell Rick twice. He buries his face between Morty's thighs and begins licking and sucking the tacky slick from his skin with gusto. Morty sighs as the first relief he's had in hours soaks through his skin and lights up the neglected pleasure centers of his brain. Small groans are falling from Rick's mouth with every exhale, and he's nipping at Morty's thighs with alternate licks now.

“Watch your teeth or I'll activate the gag too.”

Rick responds in typical contradictory fashion by running the flat of his tongue over Morty's hole, before corkscrewing around and darting short, light licks at his rim. The implicit 'you wouldn't dare' in the message is pretty fucking clear. The omega groans and relaxes into the feeling, reaching behind him with his spare hand for the stability of the floor and collapsing the rest of his weight onto Rick's face and throat. He may have lost all the chubbiness of childhood, but his hips and thighs have developed the soft, child-bearing shape that seems to drive Alphas wild.

The last of the dried slick has long since been lapped away, but Rick's been given an almost Sisyphean task, as wave after wave of fresh liquid gushes freely from Morty and is hurriedly chased before it can slip down quivering thighs. Morty's gasping a little now, already close to coming. He can tell it's going to be one of those fast, unsatisfying orgasms that shake through him before his heat properly settles, but fuck it, anything to take the edge off.

The teen is grinding his thighs against Rick's soaked face, vaguely aware he's cutting off the last of Rick's air supply. The Alpha doesn't seem to mind though, too busy moaning and fucking Morty in earnest with his tongue. Another wave of slicks pulses through Morty, and he has the suddenly less-than-ludicrous idea that he might actually _drown_ Rick like this. With that thought he's coming in short, almost painful muscle contractions and bursts of come all over the fist still bunched in Rick's hair.

The teen shifts his weight and clambers off his partner, stretching out to lay beside him on the cold floor. Rick's face is red, and sopping wet from his nose to all the way down his chin. He's drawing deep gasps of air, his eyes blown and glassy from the lack of oxygen. Usually untamed hair hangs listless from sweat, and it's matted where Morty has gripped it. His cock has clearly taken an interest in the proceedings though, waving untouched in his lap.

“Mo-orty,” Rick coughs, still trying to catch his breath without the benefit of sitting up.

Less inhibited now he's knocked out the first orgasm of his heat, Morty stretches out beside him, rubbing himself along Rick's side like a cat and sniffing deeply at the rich smell of Alpha emanating from Rick's sweat.

“Yeah Rick?”

There's no actual follow up. Rick's mouth drops open a couple of times, but it looks like all the talent it was displaying a minute ago has vanished. Getting a real apology out of Rick is like pulling teeth at the best of times.

The omega crawls back over Rick's bound form, nipping at scarred skin and groaning as he buries his face in the rich scent of the alpha's crotch. Grounded by the smell even as his head spins, Morty picks up the conversation for both of them.

“I know you feel like a piece of shit right now,” he says casually as he nips at Rick's prominent hip bones. “And we are definitely having a real discussion about this later.” He leaves a trail of teeth-laden kisses across the scientist's sides before looking up into Rick's ice-blue eyes. “But I am barely hanging on right now, and I need you to do _your fucking job_.” He spits the last few words out with venom before sinking his teeth deep into the pectoral muscle around Rick's nipple.

Rick is groaning and gnashing his teeth, his fingernails are probably drawing blood from his palms beneath his back. As much as he fucking loves it when Morty bites him, it's the worst kind of torture too; every primal instinct in his body screaming at him to bite back and _finally_ bond the omega.

Morty can't help but grin around around the flesh caught between his teeth, digging imprints further into the alpha's skin. Finally releasing with a few light kisses to the bruised area, he rolls his hips, rubbing Rick's cock between the globes of his ass, coating it in slick and teasing both of them lightly every time he pushes the head past his rim.

“You remember your job, right Rick?” he purrs in the Alpha's ear, licking a wide stripe up his neck. It still tastes like Morty over the layer of Rick's sweat. “You remember when you promised to take care of me during my heats? T-to make sure I didn't end up pregnant or gang-raped in an alley somewhere?”

Without warning Morty sits back and sinks his weight down on Rick's cock in one smooth move, biting his lip at the obscene wet sound and the broken, gut-punched gasp that escapes his grandfather. The omega leans back against Rick's raised knees, his own legs spread open in an obscene display, as he reflexively clenches around the beginning's of the alpha's knot.

“To pay attention to me and make me feel _safe_ screaming your name around your knot?”

Rick seems to have moved from chagrined silence straight to non-verbal noises, twitching as he tries and fails to find leverage to fuck up into the impossible wet, hot, heat above him. Morty's breathing evenly now, trying to adjust slowly so he doesn't destroy himself before the worst hours of his heat like an amateur. Rick's eyes finally stop rolling around his head and meet his own, hungry but focused.

“I d-don't feel very taken care of today, Rick. And I - I don't need a half-assed 'Sorry' you won't admit you mean, I need an Alpha to pin me down and f-fuck me senseless for the next day and a half."

Bracing his feet on the floor, Morty starts to ride the bound Alpha beneath him, starting with shallow thrusts before allowing himself to sink deeper and gyrate his hips, moaning softly as the first swellings of Rick's knot grind against his prostate before pulling back again.

Rick has stopped his abortive thrusts, lying still and letting the omega use him as he sees fit. His chest is heaving, and his head is as far forward as he can manage. His shoulders must be screaming, but he looks entranced. Nothing seems to remain on his face but wonder at the fucking vision Morty currently makes writhing on his lap. Morty leans back further, dropping his head back to show off the lines of his throat, drops of sweat starting to pool in the curve of his collarbone. Time to pull out the big guns.

Raising his head to meet the Alpha's gaze again he bats his eyelashes just a little too hard to be natural. “M-maybe I should just call Rick N-464. He seemed pretty capable last time we met. I bet he wouldn't leave me high and dry light years from home while- while he tried to get his dick sucked by a fucking _Floovian_.”

Rick snarls at that, teeth snapping on air has he tries to launch himself forward, shoulders wrenched back as he quickly reaches the end of his tether. Morty slams a palm into his shoulder, pushing him back and steadying himself as he fucks himself deeper on Rick's cock. He buries his face into Rick's neck again, mouthing hard at his scent glands.

“Don't you fucking bite me.”

With barely enough time for that last word of warning to sink in, he jams the serum hard into the top of Rick's thigh as he sinks his teeth deep into Rick's neck. Morty can taste blood zinging on his tongue, and Rick's reaction is instantaneous, eyes blowing out and hips stuttering hard. A deep gasp turns into a drawling curse as Rick finds his voice again, “Fuuuuuccckkk Yeaaahh.”

Morty drops the empty syringe as he brings his other hand up to wrap around Rick's arm, lapping drops of blood from the bite mark that would undoubtedly become a bonding scar if Rick returned the favor. The Alpha has come alive beneath him, trying to grind his cock deeper into the omega while his chest vibrates beneath Morty as strings of praise and promises fall from his lips.

“'I'll take care of you, baby. Lemme up, I'll make you feel so fucking good, just like I – like I always do...”

 _Yes._ Morty thought blearily, _that sounds perfect_. He groans his approval, the last of his heat delirium washing over his mind in a red fog as he breathes in the cloud of artificially induced rut pheromones beneath him. The alpha is still babbling, his words coming in a comfortable rumble from his chest as Morty clings to him, his eyes slipping closed as he clenches around the shallow thrusts

“...I'll be a good alpha for you _mi amado_ , my Morty, fuck you so good and deep babe...”

Morty doesn't understand why he doesn't do it already.

He frowns, whining against Rick's skin. It sounds so nice, Rick's just being cruel teasing him like this.

'You gotta let me go, Morty. I'll give you what you need... my omega, make you come apart on my cock c _ariño_ , you-you gotta let me do it.”

What does he expect Morty to do? He can't do anything with this fog in his head and the heat in his veins. He needs the Alpha to make it all go away, to wrap him in his arms and- oh.

“R-release restraints.”

The bindings vanish as quickly as they appeared, and Morty's balance is jarred as Rick's hands whip out from behind his back, slamming his back flat onto the ground as he spreads his legs and grabs hard at the soft flesh of Morty's hips, driving into him hard and deep.

Morty's head swims at the feeling, sounds of pleasure falling freely from his throat, and then the world is spinning and moving. Soft sheets hit his back, and his hands release from Rick's shoulders to grasp at them, desperate to anchor himself.

Rick maneuvers his legs further apart, throwing one impatiently over his shoulder as he ruts deeper into the omega, teeth bared with exertion and restraint. His knot is swelling rapidly, dragging unbearably through Morty's insides and leaving his nerves in ragged ruins in its wake. He gets the feeling that honeyed filth is still dripping from Rick's lips in a blurred mix of Spanish and English, but he's too far gone to understand a word. When Rick shoves in deeper and grinds his knot against his prostate, fingernails digging sharp crescents into Morty's hips, the omega shrieks and comes, his whole world compressing into unbearable heat and pleasure and the ringing in his ears.

He must have blacked out, because the next thing he's conscious of are his eyelids trying to flutter open, unnaturally heavy. Rick is still driving in and out of him, his form a comforting weight over Morty's smaller frame. Chapped lips are teasing at his ear, huffing out soft words.

“It-it's gonna be okay, Morty. I'll take care of you.”

Morty sighs and lets his eyes fall closed, slipping back into the waiting abyss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ...if anybody was at all wondering a 'scenario one' is Rick going into a rut or other psychosis and trying to forcibly bond Morty.
> 
> Comments are a nice bonus, but this was actually a lot of fun to write. I'm considering writing something else with these two, they have an interesting dynamic, any thoughts?


End file.
